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Stiles had learned very quickly into her masturbation sessions that she is something of a size-queen. She doesn’t like the idea of a long cock – in fact, the maximum length she can insert without intense pain is around 7 inches – but she loves the idea of being stretched. She goes through a variety of sex toys, all bought in neighboring towns at least 30 miles outside of her father’s district, where no one knows she is the only daughter of the town Sheriff and also completely underage and thus illegal to sell such toys to.
None of them quite did it for her – the thickest toy she ever manages to find in these stores has a 1.5 inch diameter, and it does nothing for her. She barely feels it, able to slide it in her at any time with no prep completely dry. So for most of her 16th year of life, she contents herself with her fingers and her imagination, dreaming of finding that perfect toy. She browses the nsfw tag on tumblr a lot, branching off into the large insertion tag whenever the mood strikes her, and finally, two weeks from her seventeenth birthday, finds a link to a site that does customized dildos for comparatively cheap prices.
Glory, glory, hallelujah.
It takes her all of a week to muster the courage to send in her order: 6.5 inches long with a 5 inch diameter, and a flared suction-cup base in case she ever gets brave enough to try and ride it. The toy, once she gets it and uses it, was in one word: orgasmic.
The stretch of it going into her has her writhing in her bed, teeth clamping her pillow, whining low in her throat because if this is how good 5 inches around felt, she could only imagine what something thicker might feel like once she gets used to be stretched open like this. She doesn't last long that night, only managing to pump the toy in and out a measly three times before the most intense orgasm of her life tears through her body.
=
So of course, being Stiles, she has to push.
In a lot of the large insertion porn she had watched, girls would stuff themselves full of their respective toys and or objects and wander around in public, no one around them the wiser that these girls were walking around with no panties and no shame about the fact that they were stuffed to the max. Sometimes they were found out, only for major sexy times to happen, but for the most part, the kink seemed to be in the private knowledge of what was really happening.
It gives Stiles so many thoughts.
So many.
She wants to try it, wants to see if she can do something so brazen and not get caught, but most of her social circle includes werewolves. Which means heightened sense of smell, amongst other things, so she would never be able to hide the scent of silicone or her arousal.
So she closes her eyes and fantasizes in the silence of her own room, dreaming about the day she goes to college where no one is supernatural and thus a fucking buzz-kill, bringing herself off again and again to the thought of walking around in public with her toy buried firmly in her cunt.
=
She’s going to have to send Deaton a gift basket. She really is.
Part of her training to be Scott’s emissary is learning how to use magic, and one of the first spells they cover is how to mask scents. She’s giddy when she realizes the personal shenanigans she can get up to with this spell, and devotes a hell of a lot more focus to the learning of this spell than she might have otherwise. Deaton is – wisely – cautiously proud of her new-found dedication, and she doesn’t have the heart to tell him that she figures that if a starting spell promises to be this much fun, she can’t wait to find out what some of the harder ones might be able to do for her.
Once she learns it though, she wastes no fucking time.
The second she gets home, she is stripping her clothes and jumping in the shower, pampering herself the way she rarely does because if she’s really going to do this, then she’s going to make herself feel as sexy as she possibly can. She chooses a rich royal-blue satin skirt Lydia forced on her that works wonders for her lanky frame, and a black camisole with a lace fringe dusting the tops of her breasts. She briefly considers an over-shirt or jacket of some kind, because layers are her thing, but the whole point of this is to experience something completely new, and there’s nothing as new as showing off what few curves she has. Stiles sits on her bed so that she can gently roll the control-top pantyhose over her legs and tuck her feet into the Mary Janes she had bought shortly after Lydia gave her the skirt. She’s never worn them, but she doesn’t have any other shoes that will go with the skirt, so. She fingers the hose for a moment, knowing that she really doesn’t need control-top anything, but she figures the hardier the pantyhose the less she’ll have to worry about the toy working loose while she’s out in public.
And then she stands up and watches herself in the mirror as she finally works her toy slowly into her, watching the blush as it blossoms on her face because this is it, she’s really going to do this. Once it’s in, she reaches down and pulls the pantyhose up, shivering as the toy moves with her, and she belatedly realizes she probably should have practiced walking around with it inside of her before doing this. But it’s too late – she’s already made plans with Lydia, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to back out now.
She lets the skirt fall over her legs, and just like that, the only sign of what she’s doing are her peaked nipples showing through her camisole and the rising blush on her face.
=
Only she never quite makes it to her lunch with Lydia. She spends nearly half-an-hour panting on the side of the road, hands clenching the wheel of her jeep like it is the only thing keeping her from losing her mind. Christ, but she should have known the vibrations from the engine would of course transfer to the toy, not to mention all those speed bumps and pot holes, and god knows what else it is she’s been driving on.
This isn’t going to work.
She was a goddamned fool for even thinking she could do this.
She tells herself she’s going to drive straight home, bring herself to a very swift orgasm, and then beg Lydia’s forgiveness for standing her up. She even starts to do so, carefully pulling back onto the road and getting into the turn lane so that she can make a quick u-turn, when her cell-phone rings.
She wants to ignore it, but it’s Scott’s ringtone, and that’s not even an option, not anymore.
She sighs as she answers, knowing that she isn’t going home, and silently curses the fact that she didn’t bring a bag or a purse or something so that she could work the toy out of her and stash it discreetly somewhere until she could get home.
=
She’s the third person in their little make-shift pack to get there – Scott and Peter are both waiting, sitting on those hard little plastic chairs people like to pretend are comfortable but really, really aren’t. Both Scott’s and Peter’s eyebrows raise when they get a look at what she’s wearing. She’d feel self-conscious, but she has a dildo currently buried in her cunt, and right now she’s a little busy trying not to freak out about it, especially considering why she’s here.
“So, on a scale of one to ‘oh god we’re all gonna die’, what’s the expectations of this meeting?”
Scott smiles at her. “Nothing big. It’s the alpha for the Sacramento pack. Several of the colleges we want to go to are in their territory, and it’s easier on everyone if we get his permission first. He wants to meet the pack before he agrees to anything, so here we are.”
She nods, finds a chair that looks marginally more comfortable then the others and sits down. Big mistake. Big fucking mistake. The hard plastic forces the toy deeper into her than she had managed to get it before. She freezes, breath caught, the sensation rocking along her already electrified nerves.
“Stiles are you all right?” Scott notices immediately, of course he does, because her luck isn’t that great.
And with his attention, comes Peter’s attention, and that makes something inside of her clench tight in combined fear and want. She gasps weakly, wiggling in her chair and fighting the urge to just let go and work herself to an orgasm. Scott tugs her into his arms, and the abrupt motion rocks the toy inside her just so. She breaks out into shivers, unable to help the wild keening sound that escapes her tightly clenched teeth.
Thankfully, Scott takes it as a sound of pain, as he immediately backs off, letting her drop slowly back into the chair. Unfortunately, Stiles only has to take one look at Peter’s face to realize that he knows exactly what sound she just made, and why. His eyes are fever-bright and his stare is hungry, and she is bound, helpless to anything but stare back at him wide-eyed and shivering. He’s not going to let this slide, she knows it as well as she knows her own name.
“Scott, perhaps Stiles should go home,” Peter drawls, gaze never leaving her. “She clearly isn’t feeling well.”
Scott looks at her, brow furrowed. “Do you want me to take you home?” he asks.
“Don’t be silly,” Peter says before she can utter a damn word. “You have a meeting with another alpha; it wouldn’t do to stand him up. I’ll take care of Stiles, won’t I?” The last is directed at her, and the way he smiles afterwards would have every cop within a three-mile radius watching him if, you know, there were cops around. It is something wicked, something dirty, something that screams out BAD TOUCH.
It should creep her out. It should make her want to run screaming in the other direction. But, right now, on the cusp of something amazing, all she can think to herself is an eager oh god yes. Her eyes flutter close as her blush deepens. She can’t stop herself from rocking ever-so-slightly in her chair, jostling the toy further. Part of her wonders what the hell she is doing as she whimpers out a simple, “Yes,” but the vast majority of her is too caught up in the sight of Peter’s blue eyes as he devours the image she is no doubt making, the lingering promise of what he might do with her once he has her written in every nuance of his voice.
Scott knows something is up, of course he does. He wasn’t born yesterday, and something about Peter has always made him leery about leaving the thirty-four-year-old man alone with any of the girls. But Peter is right – this meeting with the Sacramento pack alpha needs to go well, or no one’s going to college. Stiles manages to give him a sincere – if definitely shaky – smile. “It’s alright,” she says, fingers digging into her thighs, trying to gain some measure of control over herself. “Peter will take me.”
In more ways than one, she suddenly hopes.
=
It’s not until she’s sliding into the passenger seat of her jeep that Peter makes his move. He grabs the leg not already in the car, and drags her to the edge of her seat. She moves with him, twisting in the seat and swinging her other leg back out of the jeep, knowing what he wants but not what he’s going to do. Oddly enough, though she’s never once before considered sex with Peter Hale, she wants this. She wants it bad. Peter’s breathing is heavy, his eyes burning bright beta-blue, a soft, rumbling growl working its way out of his throat. She stares up at him, panting, waiting.
“Show me,” he orders, and she is helpless but to obey.
She lifts the satin of her skirt up to her waist, revealing her panty-hose encased legs (drenched at their seat where she’s been leaking around her toy like a fucking sieve) and the neon-blue flared base of the dildo she has worked up inside of her. Peter’s throat works as if he’s trying to say something, but can’t seem to find the words with which to speak. His hands push at her knees, forcing her legs wider, the pantyhose stretching tight against her cunt, and she can’t help but cry out as the toy is pushed into her a little deeper.
He presses firmly against her knees, an unspoken demand for her to keep them right where they are, before sliding both his thick hands up her inner thighs.
He grabs the base of the toy, pulling it slowly out as far as her pantyhose will allow, and keeps it there for a long moment as he takes in the size of the dildo. “You dirty little girl,” he finally breathes out. Something unrecognizable crosses his face, some emotion she has no name for. “Is that what you wanted, Stiles? A nice, fat cock working you open? Does it not feel good unless you’re stuffed full, stretched to your limits?”
She whines, shuddering as he slowly pushes the toy back in.
“How long is it, Stiles?” Peter asks her, eyes fixated on her cunt as he slowly withdraws the thick toy again.
“N-not long,” she stutters, hips jerking erratically. She’s been riding the edge of what promises to be the most intense orgasm of her life all morning, and she’s so close right now she can almost taste it. “C-can’t take it too long. H-hurts.”
Peter fucking whines, eyes clenching tight, that same nameless emotion crossing his face. His hand on her thigh tightens to an almost-bruising grip as his eyes open again. He’s lost the bright electric color of his wolf, staring now at her with regular human eyes, but there’s nothing human about the hunger she sees there. With a sharp, wolf-like smile on his face, he thrusts the toy as far into her as it will go.
She screams as it slams against her cervix. The feeling that makes her spine arch and her toes curl in her Mary Janes is something like pain, but at the same time it feels so fucking good she wants to beg him to do it again and again. He fucks her shallowly but forcefully with the toy, her pantyhose preventing anything more than two inches from leaving her greedy cunt, watching her as she’s forced to sit there and take it in the parking lot where anyone could see them. She couldn’t be quiet if her life depended on it right now, and it’s the sudden, immobilizing thought of someone coming around, seeing her like this, spread open in front of a man twice her age as he fucks her with a toy is enough to send her over the edge.
Peter, sadistic asshole that he is, fucks her through her orgasm, prolonging it. When it’s over, leaving her shaking and trembling in the passenger seat of her own jeep, staring blearily at the ceiling, limbs feeling heavy and relaxed, Peter tucks the toy firmly back into her as far as it will go.
The sound of his belt being undone rouses her enough to look at him as he pulls his hard cock out of his pants (apparently he goes commando) and pump it. She watches him, eyes wide as she takes in the sight – he’s not monstrously long, being of average length for an adult male, but he is wide, like, soda-can dimensions wide. Her breath catches as she imagines that lovely fat cock inside of her and it’s almost Pavlovian now, the response she gets when she thinks about something so deliciously thick stretching her wide. He strokes his cock once, twice, three times before he’s coming, shooting thick spurts of come onto her pantyhose. Peter’s a good looking man, if slightly creepy on occasion, but he’s downright beautiful as he comes. Her breath catches again for entirely different reasons, and she’s suddenly wildly jealous of anyone else who already has or ever will see the sight of Peter coming undone.
I did that, she thinks, almost wildly, fingers clenching in her skirt as she struggles not to reach out and touch.
It takes him a moment to come down from his own high, but when he does, he tucks himself gingerly back into his pants and puts himself to rights. He gently reaches out and unclenches her hands from her skirt and soothes the fine material back over her legs, covering the cooling stripes of come that are soaking into her pantyhose, helps her bring her uncooperative legs into the jeep, and buckles her in. He shuts the door and gets in on the driver’s side, calmly inserting the key and starting the ignition.
If it weren’t for the mess he left on her, the bright fevered gleam in his eyes, and the way he’s breathing (shallow, panting breaths), Stiles would have thought he had been completely unaffected by what he just did to her. But he isn’t, and Stiles inexplicably wants to see him lose that tight control completely.
“I’m going to take you home,” Peter says just as he pulls out of the parking lot, voice deep and rumbling, more wolf than man. “I’m going to remove that cheap plastic cock you have buried in your cunt, and I’m going to fuck you. And, oh, Stiles, I can promise you this: you will never again reach for that toy once I’m done with you.”
=
It’s a promise kept.